Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Some mornings stink... literally!

The Innocent Victim

When your life revolves around nine dogs, your life is blessed with a symphony of fragrances. The smell of love carried on a furiously wagging body. The smell of delight ferried on the backs of loud "Welcome Home woo-ahroooooos!" as you walk in your door. The smell of excitement leaking from pores when you grab your purse and keys. "Take me! And me!" The smell of contentment rising like heat waves from comatose forms in front of the fireplace. The smell of anticipation after a trick learned and performed. The stinking stench of your own fear when you find that new lump on your Very Old Dog. And the blessed blissful smell, so like the delicate notice of a wild Lilly of the Valley found in a surprising shady spot, when that lump turns out to be Nothing. Nothing at all.

My life abounds with other smells too. I am married, for these twenty-four privileged years to an Italian. Coming home to our little farmhouse after a long day of lure coursing in the cold, wet New Jersey or Pennsylvania November fields, to the ambrosial aroma of Bill's simmering sauce. The anticipation of that smell made the trip home faster. And writing that, I am reminded of the van on the way home from those coursing trials. Wet dog clothing smelling faintly of laundry detergent. Mud, apples, and the morning's empty coffee cups. The comfortable smell of a long day spent with a good soul-friend and laughter. A vehicle full of deeply satisfied canine snores.

I so miss those weekends.

Then there are the more mundane scents. Dog farts. I have found that dogs do not have to fart. It is entirely dependant on their food, and that is entirely up to the provider of same. You may recall our recent revisit to the land of the Green Gasses when I switched to a new food. We have left that land and returned to Life Without Peeling Paint, with a simple switch back. There is the odor that accompanies picking up poop. Well, it's just part of it and we can all be grateful when the bag doesn't break. That's a lot of gratitude from me; my days are full of lots of bags. Our bedroom in the morning can smell fairly doggy. It's a gentle reminder to their Servant that dogs should bathe, too, and their bedding needs laundering as regularly as our own.

There's the embarrassingly hard to explain smell of forgotten Bil-Jac liver treats in your pocket at a Mainstreet Board meeting with the town's fanciest Movers and Shakers. A smell repugnant even to my own dog-loving nose, and I know my fellow board members believe it emanates from my mortified self.

This morning we hosted a smell-o-rama in the Casa Renzulli Kitchen. Bill, a confirmed non-breakfast-eater for his entire adult life, has changed his ways. A Silly Diet from two years ago had the most excellent side effect of transforming him into a regular morning feaster. And his Italian heritage prevents him from ingestion of boring cereal or ho-hum toast. So this morning he was sauteing onions and Canadian bacon to decorate his perfectly sunny side up eggs.

And I am here to tell you that particular onion was the stinkiest specimen of oniondom ever created. I unsuccessfully tried to refrain from critical comment.

"Jeeee-sus Almighty Gawd that think stinks," I lovingly declared. "I think I'm going to be sick. Onions with shredded wheat have always been my idea of a perfect start to a perfect day."

Bill has a confident nature and a strong ego and he couldn't have cared less about my expression of displeasure. His breakfast was delicious.

"That has to be the Worst Smell in the World," I gently suggested. "You are grossing me out," I said with love.

Bill licked his lips and read the paper.

I busied myself scrubbing the cutting board for the third time, exclaiming to myself, "Pee-yooo. Nasty stank. Yuck."

Then, when Bill had finished eating his much maligned meal, he was loading the evidence into the dishwasher. We have a deal with the dogs. They are the pre-rinse cycle, licking the plates and platters on the floor. They are not to indulge in further pre-rinsing of dishes already loaded in the dishwasher. This is a safety feature of The Contract, due to the presence of sharp knives, wine glasses, and the like. Swede William prefers to opt out of this contractual agreement. As do Lindy Loo, Mama Pajama, Fat Charlie, and anyone else when we aren't looking and often when we are. But Swede William is the most determined.

Bill was just saying, "Get out of there, dogs," when all hell broke loose, along with the entire bottom tray of the dishwasher. It was attached somehow to Swede William who was trying to beat a whippet-speed retreat. Dishes crashed and broke. Poor Swede William cried out the injustice of it all, obviously feeling that the Man Servant had unfairly attacked him with the dishwasher. I finally got him untangled - his tag had gotten wedged between the silverware trough and the main tray - and he flew out of the room.

And then, as Bill and I were sweeping up the broken glass and porcelain, there was that smell. As my brain processed what the old olfactory cells were sending up, I said, "That was either the world's rankest onion, or am I smelling anal glands?"

Bill choked, "That is no onion."

Swede William had clearly been of the opinion that the Attacking Dishwasher Tray was going to kill him and he did what nature provided as his Last Hope of Survival. He let loose with his anal glands. All over the kitchen.

And once again I was humbled by the dog gods.

There was, most certainly, without any possible argument, a smell much, much, ever so much worse than Bill's breakfast onion.

As I humbly went about cleaning it up, I made a mental note. Good, kind, wonderful husband. Occasionally smelly breakfast. Not worth bitching about. Got it.

Hug your smelly hounds!

And don't forget to enter the drawing! See the next post and good luck.


  1. When our elderly Sam was still with us, he would love to come and lie under my desk (he didn't fit particularly well, but that never bothered him) while I was working on the computer. And he would pass gas. Constantly. Luckily for me, there was a window right beside me, which helped a little. We would joke that he had actually died some time ago but wouldn't admit it and was slowly decomposing from the inside.

    Speaking of onions - when I lived in Sydney there was a sandwich shop across the street from my office. Sometimes on my way in I would have a yearning for peanut butter on toast, so I'd stop there. The guys that worked there, nice as they were, apparently had no idea of basic science, and would put my hot toast on the wooden chopping board they had just used to slice the onions on and slather it with peanut butter.

    Onion flavoured PB on toast. It's an acquired taste.

  2. Okay....we are still laughing....double entendre pumpkin....we should have put that as the title for the post! Patience....we have two words for you...."YOU ROCK!"

    smiles, kari and kijsa

  3. Poor little William. Please give him a little pat from me.

    Thanks for the laugh Patience!


  4. You are funny!!
    Mommy wants to know why she got the last non-cooking Italian ???
    I love the farts that are silent but seem like they emanate from mommy when I am sitting on her!!!

  5. Wonderful as always,Patience. Poor William!! Martha C.

  6. Oh my gosh, that is just down right hilarious. And the kicker? William's anal glands obviously worked--the Attacking Dishwasher Tray stopped attacking! Poor pup, lol!

    My mom's cat once hit me with some of her potent rear end juice while we were playing... god awful. It took so much soap to get that smell off, I thought I was going to have to amputate.

  7. Oh I'm sorry Swede William, I so shouldn't laugh but that vision of the whippet-retreat with the dishwasher tray in hot pursuit did make me chuckle!!

    Anal glands. Oh yes. Been there. Lurcher No.1 has a congenital defect which means she can't often empty hers naturally. You can see my vet's heart sink when we stroll into the surgery! But just occasionally they do burst forth of their own accord. And more often than not it's all over our bed. Nice.

    Another doggy smell you didn't mention....paws. They have a smell reminiscent of cheesy balls, which sounds positively disgusting but really isn't! I can often be found with my nose buried in a lurcher paw, sniffing deeply and wallowing in the sense that all is right with the world when you have a paw to sniff.

  8. Ah, yes Fritos feet! You know you are among friends when you can revel in the comfy scent of your dogs' feet, and be surrounded by smiling "mmmmmmm's".

  9. Our whippet, Pico has learned to eat poop and therefore emit terrible gas if she doesn't get a treat or two during the day. They are soooo smart.

  10. How apropos to read this today.

    Last night I gave all of the kids raw shank bones with a good chunk of meat surrounding them. Fling, the old lady, left hers without a scrap of fat, sinew, meat or marrow. It was as clean as if it had come out of the dishwasher. Ditto, the saluki, cleaned out the marrow and most of the meat but left some bits on the outside of the bone.

    When getting them all ready for bed, I went through rooms and crates to make sure that all of the bones were out of reach to prevent any issues or problems. Fling had put hers under the middle of a 3 foot diameter dog bed in the living room. Ditto had hers sitting in the corner of a crate.

    Speed however had been in a closed crate with his bone since Ditto is in season and she was in an open crate. When I went to take it away for the night, I couldn't find it! I pulled him out of the crate, pulled the blankets out of the crate, pulled his food dish out of the crate. Nothing!!! It was a wire crate, so I searched around the crate, even under the radiator... Still nothing! Finally I looked in his water bucket...

    BINGO!!! There is the bone only half eaten. Just like Patience and Bill, the dogs are not allowed to pre-wash dishes in the dishwasher. Nor are they allowed in it. In fact they are not allowed to use any of the appliances! This of course includes the microwave and stove.

    Well, I think Speed was just trying to improvise. He was trying to make bone soup! Luckily I did discover it before it ripened. Today he is finishing off his non-stewed bone.

    I've seldom met a whippet without a iron stomach. Alas the saluki didn't fare so well... Although she's had raw bones before...

  11. The onions DID NOT SMELL!!!

  12. Oh, how I wish I could write like you though I laughed nearly as hard when I read the comment from anonymous... Me and my anonymous have the same "onions do NOT smell" - "onions DO TOO smell" argument.

  13. Italian cooking does not smell. It has an aroma.

    nuff said. Hilarious post. Teka sleeps UNDER the covers, and when she has a gassy night, Gus, Dad and I are pointing fingers at one another, and the culprit sleeps through it all.


  14. farts are just little gifts of odorous love that we share with our humans!

  15. Hey buddies,

    Welcome to - it is great to meet you and I am sure you will make lots of new friends here :-)


  16. Woo-Hooooooo! We are part of Dogs With Blogs!!! Woo-HOOOOOOOOOO!! Run around silly spins! Rahr hrar celebratory bites on necks all over!!! Happy, happy dogs all!

    the whippet waggle

  17. Patience, Continue on! My husband keeps asking what the daily emails I get showing your blog has been updated, and I cannot tell him for he already fears I've lost my mind to my Whippet!!

    Your blog brings a bright spot in my day!


  18. Patience... This is like the fifth time already I'm back to read that last paragraph. Love it, love it, LOVE it!

    Ekstra kisses to my former "neighbour", dishwashervictim Swede William!


  19. yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa - glad you made into DWB!!!!
    Your posting is wonderful! We laugh until we have cry!

    Love ya lots
    Maggie and Mitch

  20. Thank you, Patience, for "My dog is getting old". My sweet whippet girl Zephyr turned 14 in May, and reading about Giacomino was sad, sweet and enlightening. Like others who've read it, I was moved to tears. Although my husband and I now also have a 6 month old whippet pup, Niles, I cannot imagine life without my Zeph. Our cat Tristan is the same age as Zephyr and thinks he's a dog. Sadly he has intestinal lymphoma and is beginning to fade. My heart is breaking. Thanks for sharing your talent with us and making our burdens lighter.

  21. Thanks for yet another laugh;-) Poor William, I hope he has recovered.


  22. Great story!! I think!!

    Koobuss Kisses,

  23. Patience,
    Youw stowy made my Mommi laugh so was tewwific..we wish we could wite like you ..youw house must smell wondewful! full of love!
    smoochie kisses

  24. Oh our dawgness,
    Your story is sooooo funny! Mama had tears coming down her face she was laughing so hard, hehehehehe.
    Luv & Wirey Hugs!
    Butchy & Snickers

  25. Okay, I LOVE onions frying in the morning! Reminds me of ....lunch, a little earlier.... or Thanksgiving mornings when I'd be asleep and the onions for the stuffing would be wafting up to my room!!
    Poor sweet Swede William... he didn't mean it.... I enjoyed the beginning, but the ending made me laugh out loud!!
    Thanks so much for the detail :-) I love details, and that's what makes your stories so absorbing!

  26. I'm not sure how I missed this story all those months ago. Too funny for words! Taz especially likes to let little SBD farts out just when I have to pull up the blankets to let him out. Oh MY!



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